


Closer

by kingpeacock



Category: Anita Blake - Fandom, Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, M/M, PWP without Porn, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingpeacock/pseuds/kingpeacock
Summary: Jack lands in Paris, and knows just where to go to get a cure for the itch. Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter and Torchwood crossover, basically Jack gets his rocks off with a sexy vampire. You’re welcome.





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> This is wholly inspired by the Nine Inch Nails song of the same name, which is perfect listening for this fic.

Jack didn't care where he ended up. He dialled in a random assortment of days, dates and times, and closed his eyes, feeling the familiar whoosh of air as his Vortex Manipulator yanked him across time and space. 

When he opened his eyes, it took them a few minutes to adjust to the darkness he found himself in, then he checked the current time and date on his manipulator. It was January 15th, 1786, and it had just struck twelve in the morning. He shut his manipulator and wandered into the streets, glancing at the few people he saw with interest and absorbing what he could about the city he was in. 

It took a few minutes of wandering, but he soon solved the riddle of where he was. Paris had changed in many ways since this time, but, at its heart, it would always be the same. The smell of the Seine was exactly the same, the cobbling on the street worn smooth by horses hooves was the same, and the throbbing air, alive with debauchery and naughtiness was still here. 

A point on Jack's wrist throbbed gently, not in a painful way, more of a sharp ache. Of course, if Paris was the same, then so was the man Jack set out to meet. 

Jack headed for the waterfront, a new spring in his step as he found himself with an aim to his wanderings. He wondered to himself whether or not Jean-Claude would remember him. Jack had, through some malfunction of his Vortex Manipulator, found himself in 1891 and had met Jean-Claude then, the beautiful, deadly French vampire that people flocked to be wooed by. 

As with so many accidents with the manipulator, Jack had ended up in bed with the vampire, concluding his interlude with a bite to the wrist which tied the two together. It had been a huge rush to be bitten like that, knowing that, at any moment, Jack could wind up dead on the streets to be confused with a Ripper victim or more alive than he'd ever been, nerves tingling all over and fingers twisted in expensive silk sheets. 

Subconsciously, Jack had been seeking Jean-Claude ever since he had become immortal. He had never set out to find the vampire, knowing that, one day, their paths would cross again, but it had always lingered in the back of his mind, a thrilling excitement at the mere thought of what it would be like now he could never die. 

Jack's feet seemed to know where they were going, and he let them lead him along the waterfront until he stood outside a musky bar who's name, proclaimed in an elegant, French hand indicative of Jean-Claude, was The Broken Chalice. 

He pushed open the dark wooden door, inlaid with a lighter wood and which probably cost more than the bar staff earned in a year, and took in the sights and smells inside. The most overpowering smell was that of expensive wine, a rich smell which had its own colour, but with a hint of old wood and worn-out velvet stretched over expensive, finely carved chairs. 

At the scattered tables sat a lot of beautiful men, who looked up at Jack as he moved through the maze of chairs, talking appreciatively about him. The few women inside the bar who weren't on stage performing gentle songs about lost loves watched him, too, with the eyes of eagles who've spotted some easy prey below them. 

Completely unfazed, Jack hung his great coat on the rack and sat down at the bar, attracting the attention of the young female barmaid. “What can I get you, sir?” she asked, her French accent making Jack smile like a predator. As much as he loved a Welsh accent, the lilting, gentle French tone speaking in a husky voice made his body feel warm all over. 

“A glass of your finest wine,” he replied, his French a little rusty but passable. He touched her hand, raising an attractive blush in her cheeks, noticing how cold her hand was, “And if you could fetch your master, I'd appreciate it,” he finished, almost purring. She poured the wine out of a beautiful bottle and handed it to him with a slightly fang-filled smile, then left through a door in the back of the bar. 

Jack took a sip of the wine and groaned with pleasure at the bitter-sweet taste, the smooth woody texture to the fluid which seemed to warm him from inside out. In between sips, he raised the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, smelling the notes throughout the wine and groaning again appreciatively. “Enjoying it?“

Jack nearly jumped from his seat from the sound of the voice, which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Vampires were very good at throwing their voices, and Jack had forgotten how Jean-Claude's voice felt like velvet rubbing against your bear skin, intimate and somehow forbidden. 

“It's been a long time since I had wine this good,” Jack said in agreement, turning around on the bar stool to look at Jean-Claude. The vampire had his hair loose, flowing in endless ringlets down beside his face, leading your eye to the sheer silk shirt he was wearing and leather pants which showed off his ass perfectly. Jack had to fight to convince his eyes to stay in their sockets, and his hands on the bar.

“It's been too long, Jack,” Jean-Claude said, taking a seat beside Jack, close enough that their knees brushed temptingly softly. Jean-Claude was one of few people who could make Jack weak at the knees like a schoolgirl, and his voice was enough to have Jack groan softly, low in his throat. “What brings you back here?”

Jack shrugged, pretending that he wasn't distracted by the closeness of them both. Jean-Claude was perfectly distracting at all times, and this was no different. “Luck more than judgement,” he said, trying to come over as off-hand and relaxed. “I thought you might miss me,” he finished, swallowing audibly and taking another sip of the rich wine. 

“Of course I did, Jack.” Jack hated the way he shuddered when Jean-Claude said his name like that. “Come; my office room has more comfortable chairs,” Jean-Claude purred, and the invitation felt like so much more, an invitation into the vampire's bed, perhaps. 

“Sure,” Jack said, not wholly trusting his voice to say anything more. Jean-Claude got up in one fluid cat-like movement, Jack following and feeling rather large an ungainly in comparison to how Jean-Claude moved. It was like the vampire glided along the floor rather than grace it with a gentle footfall and risk dirtying his boot. Jack felt akin to a love-sick teenager, following the object of his desire along a school corridor. 

The office was about half the size of the bar, and decorated simply with red velvet and mahogany wood. Against one wall was a chaise long, draped artfully with a throw of crushed maroon velvet, and against another was a mahogany desk behind which sat an expensive chair. The absence of windows was slightly unnerving, but considering his host's status, Jack accepted it as necessary. He looked at the chaise long, eyes lingering on it as his mind had thoughts about Jean-Claude's beautiful locks of hair spread back on that throw, stark against his pale bare skin. He shivered again. 

Jack sat on the chaise long, placing his wine glass on a small side-table off to one side of the couch. Jean-Claude perched himself artfully on the desk facing Jack, standing perfectly still as only a vampire can. The two men looked at one another, sizing one another up for a few minutes, before Jean-Claude spoke. “I had missed you, Jack.” Jack smiled at the sentiment, an honest, easy smile which felt natural. “Something has changed about you.“

Jack's smile grew wilder, the heat in his eyes more intense. “I can't die,” he said quietly, knowing that no matter how softly he spoke the vampire could hear him. Jean-Claude laughed, a sound so sensuous that it brought goosebumps out on Jack's skin. 

“Oh, really?”

“Definitely.”

“You don't smell like a vampire, Jack,” Jean-Claude replied, his interest clearly piqued by the concept. 

Jack wondered if they had had the same thought about his new status. “I'm not. I'm something more complicated, a fixed point in space and time... It’s a long, boring story that neither of us should waste our immortality delving deeply into,” Jack said briefly, skimming the details to prevent revealing too much about the future. “I can't die,” he repeated, smiling at the mere concept. 

Jean-Claude began to move forwards towards Jack, that cat-like gait so effortless and elegant that it made Jack want to leap up and crash their lips together. Jean-Claude came closer, ever closer, silent but for the slow 'crunch' of his shoes on the hardwood floor, until he stood in front of Jack, looking down at him. Jack ran his hands up the soft leather pants slowly, savouring the way they felt under his fingertips, every crease catching his fingers as he moved up. He glanced up at Jean-Claude who was looking at him intensely, his expression unreadable. 

Jean-Claude bent over, capturing Jack's lips in a hard kiss, tongue not asking for access but taking it, Jack's hands on the vampire's hips, holding firmly as though to stop him escaping. Jean-Claude began kissing down Jack's neck, lingering over the jugular vein, the pulse jumping at the contact. Jack heard someone begging, and realised with a jolt of shock that it was him, muttering for Jean-Claude to bite at his throat, feel that exquisite pleasure all over again. The vampire ignored him, working Jack's shirt buttons open one by one, cold fingers trailing over every inch of exposed skin, making Jack's head tilt back, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips, hands still on Jean-Claude's hips flexing in rhythm. 

Jean-Claude pushed Jack's braces down, tugging the shirt out of his pants where it was tucked in, exposing Jack's torso to the shimmering candlelight. Jack started working on Jean-Claude's shirt, pulling it away from his body, trying to detangle the folds of sheer fabric which looked fabulous but gave little access to what was underneath. Jean-Claude helped, pulling the shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor without a thought. Jack stood, pulling them close together, bare chests pressing against one another, erections so close, pressing against clothing and begging to be let free. 

“Merde,” Jean-Claude hissed against Jack's neck when Jack bit hard into his shoulder, relishing the way Jean-Claude's long fingers convulsed into the flesh on his back. Jack smirked, leaning back enough so they could look at one another, exchange a brief glance before they were kissing again, Jack running a careful tongue across Jean-Claude's fangs, loving the sharp sting of them touching his sensitive tongue. Jean-Claude was tugging at Jack's belt, fumbling with the buckle, rolling his finger along the edge of Jack's pants waist band, so tantalisingly close. Jack took over, fighting the buckle open as quickly as he could, shoving his pants and boxers down to kick them off to one side with his shoes. “In a hurry?” Jean-Claude asked, his voice darker somehow. 

Jack decided not to lie. “Yes,” he replied breathlessly, looking down at Jean-Claude, who was on his knees in front of Jack, fingers tracing Jack's hipbones, inching closer to Jack's now throbbing, near-painful, erection. Jack put his hands on Jean-Claude's shoulders, still watching him closely, a pleading look in his eyes. Jean-Claude obliged, taking the head of Jack's penis in his mouth, artfully angling it to keep his fangs safely out of reach. Jack felt his whole body twitch, pleasure shooting right through him as Jean-Claude worked his lips up and down the shaft. Jack tangled his fingers into Jean-Claude's endless black curls, closing his eyes and just revelling in every sensation. When Jean-Claude stopped, releasing Jack's cock with a gentle lick to the head which came perilously close to sending Jack over the edge. Jean-Claude leaned Jack back into the chaise long, pulling the leather pants off himself and adding them to the pile Jack had started. He knelt over Jack, holding his hands above his head, then stretched his body over Jack's until his lips were level with Jack's wrists, prone in a way to show off the pulsating vein. Jack arched his back, grinding their hips together, loving the way that Jean-Claude hissed in pleasure as their erections ground together. 

“Relax, mon cheri,” Jean-Claude whispered once he'd gained a little composure, lining himself up before plunging his fangs into Jack's wrist. Jack tried to rut himself against Jean-Claude but couldn't get purchase, so settled on writhing and moaning out words without consonants or structure, legs wrapping around Jean-Claude's hips to pull them together. It was like pure endorphins were running through his veins, originating at his wrist, so when Jean-Claude pulled away, Jack felt bereft of the contact. Jean-Claude tied a white handkerchief around Jack's wrist with such a swift movement that Jack hardly noticed. 

Jean-Claude touched Jack's hip, urging him to roll onto his front, which Jack obliged to, smelling the lavender and rose scent on the pillows. Jean-Claude wetted his index finger, trailing it down Jack's spine, wet and cold and yet hot all at the same time, down the crack in Jack's ass until it reached it's destination, gently moving its way inside Jack, making Jack arch his back and swear and hiss. Jean-Claude pressed his finger as far up as it would go, tracing a line down Jack's prostate and causing Jack to twitch, hands gripping tight onto the velvet throw, bunching it in his fist. 

Jean-Claude continued his routine with two, then three fingers, stretching Jack out to prepare him, each time leaving a few moments between the insertion of each finger to give time for Jack's orgasm to subside. By the time Jean-Claude was finished, Jack was panting, nearly begging for Jean-Claude to be inside him, the velvet now an untidy heap beneath them both. Jean-Claude raised Jack's hips up so he was half kneeling and half laid on the throw, then the vampire eased his erect penis into Jack slowly, giving his lover time to adjust to the size. He laid is torso against Jack's back as far as he was able, finding himself panting, more out of habit than necessity. He began rocking, slow movements bringing him in and out of Jack, almost tantalisingly slowly, Jack moaning at the feelings and sensations. “Faster,” he said after a few moments, his voice hoarse with pleasure. 

“Our,” Jean-Claude replied, his voice almost as desperate as Jack's. He complied, thrusting harder and faster. Jack's hand went to his own erection, pumping at it in time with Jean-Claude's pounding, and he came quickly, almost falling from the chaise long as his body lost coordination for a few seconds, held only in place by Jean-Claude's firm grip on his hips. 

Jean-Claude thrust a few more times and came, shuddering and catching himself on the back of the couch, muttering words Jack didn't understand in French. He pulled out of Jack, giving Jack the chance to roll over so they could collapse into each others arms, sweaty skin slick together. 

”Merde,” Jean-Claude said after a moment, enjoying the afterglow, looking down at Jack's forehead, the way his fringe stuck to his skin with sweat. 

“Merde, indeed,” Jack agreed, brushing a few stray hairs from Jean-Claude's face. 

*~*~* 

Jack woke up, wrapped up in the velvet throw which felt slightly sticky from sweat. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the familiar ache he felt after good sex which seemed to infect his whole body. He noticed the handkerchief and untied it, seeing his blood on the white cotton and smiling at the two tiny scars on his wrist, imperceptible to anyone else, but he knew they were there. He sat up, looking around bleary eyed, and saw a plate of cheese, ham and bread with a glass of water beside it, a note laid beside his breakfast. 

He stood, tying the velvet at his waist and crossed to read the note. It was written in Jean-Claude's curving script, beautifully laid out on crisp creamy paper which bore a small watermark of Jean-Claude's design. It read;

_Jack, Until another time, or space, we meet again. Let us hope that our meeting will be as fruitful once more, Ever yours, Jean-Claude._


End file.
